The Precious Gifts I Refuse to Regret
by NuqueerWarhead
Summary: Ever since Chloe was paralyzed in an accident, Maxine has lived her life as though everything could be taken away at any moment. Now she's a shallow, self-absorbed party girl in the eyes of everyone but her new friends in the Vortex Club. But when tragedy strikes once again, can this party girl still be an Everyday Hero? In the Alternate Timeline, Alternate Maxine finds redemption.
1. Chapter 1

It's early morning, and I'm pulled up close to Chloe's bedside. She's still asleep, her beautiful face perfected by sunlit, brown hair and the happiest, most carefree smile. All the shit that she has to deal with, and _I_ can make her smile like that?

There's a photo album open on the bed, propped up against her hip. I guess we fell asleep looking at photos. There's one that's out of its sleeve, Chloe and me in the kitchen making pancakes. I put it back and set the album on her desk.

There's a knock on the door. I open it.

It's William. "Just checking in on Chloe," he says.

I step aside. "Yeah. She's asleep."

He checks some of her supplies, checks her machines, and… just watches her for a minute, with his back to me.

I start snooping around her room, checking everything out the way I always do. There are various medical supplies and spare towels and sheets on pretty much every surface, but interspersed with them are various knick knacks. A shelf of depressing medical shit is brightened up a little, pink box with a hand-painted, white flower on it. Around her TV there are a half dozen snowglobes, a teddy bear, and the stuffed Hawt Dog Man that I got for her on that road trip. On the far wall there's more photo albums, and a framed picture of her and William together in the kitchen. It looks like it's from the same day as the pancake picture, and they're both so happy together. It's beautiful.

"How much morphine did you give her?"

Huh? I didn't give her any morphine. I just woke up.

He doesn't wait for me to answer. "When you and I were talking you had her morphine injector in your hand. How much did you give her?"

He and I were talking? I don't remember that. "I… I don't remember." I don't remember any of this. How did I get here? The last thing I remember is hanging out with my friends at school, and Victoria and I were talking. I was avoiding Chloe-I haven't been here in years. How can I not remember…?

"But you gave her the amount that she told you to, right?"

I… what the hell? I mean, I must have-I wouldn't know how much to give her and I wouldn't have given her any amount other than what she told me to. Did I really give her the morphine? "Yeah?" I answer.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and runs his fingers through his hair. "I see."

He still has his back turned, why isn't he looking at me? "Is something wrong?"

"No," he says just a little too quickly. "Nothing's wrong. Chloe's going to be out for most of the day, and I'm sure you have to get back to school soon anyway."

I do.

"Why don't you get going?" he says. "We'll see you again soon."

When I'm halfway out the front door I hear him burst into heavy sobs. I turn back around. I should… I should…

I fall into the doorframe. There are black splotches in my vision, growing, surrounded by red rings… burning film. I spin, but they don't move with me. It's not my eyes, it's the walls, the floor, the air. I feel it inside me, eating me apart until I fall to the floor. My head…

My brain is bashing itself against the inside of my skull like a bird trying to kill itself on a window.

I jump, and my chair scratches the classroom floor loud enough to turn heads.

Leaning back against a desk, Mr. Jefferson straightens up. "Miss Caulfield?"

"Yes?"

"You were saying?"

"What?"

"You were just telling us that…" He gestures for me to continue.

Everyone is staring at me. "Maxine?" hisses Victoria.

"You were telling us about the reading that was assigned for today," says Jefferson, "until you nodded off in mid-sentence."

"Huh? I…" I was? "Yeah, it was about…" God, this fucking… it's a sinus headache. It feels like the pain is filling my skull with so much pressure that it's leaking out all across my face and in my nose and my pores and the goddamn spaces between my teeth. Ugh. "The critical moment of the photograph. The spontaneity, and…" My chest hurts too-like someone's holding my lungs and pushing them apart just enough to make it hard to breathe. "How composition can never be truly planned in advance or imposed after the fact. Um…" There was more… I just can't think…

"That chapter is assigned for Thursday. Today's assignment, Miss Caulfield."

Without thinking I blurt out, "Today is Thursday."

A few people chuckle uncomfortably.

Victoria leaps to my defense. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jefferson, Maxine and I were up very late last night studying. We actually had a very long discussion about _Daguerreotypes."_ She adds emphasis to clue me in.

But the reading about Daguerre was assigned over the weekend, We talked about it on Monday.

She turns to me and mouths the words, "It's Monday."

The fuck? Whatever, fine. "It was about the Daguerrian Process and how it, like, turned portraiture into something that anyone can do. You were linking it back to the… democratization of art," great fucking buzzword right there, "as a kind of personal expression."

"Well, well, well," he says. "Class, if you're ever struggling with the workload, be sure to take advantage of Professor Caulfield's office hours."

Nailed it.

"That is, if she can stay awake."

Mr. Jefferson is my personal art hero and all but, god, he's such a fucking dickhead. The bell rings to end class.

I'm slow to get moving-I just feel… off. What was I just dreaming about? It felt so important.

Victoria walks over to put her hand on my shoulder. Leaning in to whisper, she asks, "Is everything okay? You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

I don't know.

At the desk next to mine I hear pencil scratching softly against paper. Kate is sketching something lazily, unfocused, head in her hand, eyes almost falling shut. She's sort of curled up, hunched over the desk, shoulders, arms, and legs held close to her body. It's like she's afraid of being seen. Or screamed at. Or hit.

"Maxine?"

I brush Victoria's hand away. "I'll be fine."

She steps back to appraise me. "Catch your breath, okay? I'm going to talk to Mark, and then we can go."

I nod.

From the side I feel Kate looking at me. I glare at her to get her to knock it off and she goes back to being a curled-up ball of ridiculous self-pity.

She just needs some of that sappy, abused-animal-commercial music, right? Poor Kate. Spearheaded a big, stupid abstinence campaign and got caught on video drunkenly stumbling into make-out sessions with random boys while high out of her mind. So unfair. How could this cruel and uncaring world do that to her?

No drinks, no drugs, no parties, no fun, just so she can act superior towards whatever category of _you people_ she's invented to pretend she's better than. Fucking Jesus freaks like her are all alike, judging the rest of us for not following their arbitrarily self-denying bullshit standards that they can't even live up to either.

She's drawing a bunch of silly-looking cartoon forest animals: a bear in a turtleneck sweater, a little deer with a big bow on her head, an owl in a top hat, a bunny in a frilly dress. Running together… in fear. Pencil marks are scratched horizontally through their bodies.

It's like they're all running from a mass shooting.

But that's… Come on, Kate. Really? Does the realization that you're no better than the rest of us really hurt _that_ bad? I mean, get… just get over it.

"Are-"

Shit! I jump. What?

Kate's looking at me again. Startled me.

"Sorry," she says slowly, unsure. "Are you alright, Maxine?"

"Like _you_ care." I stand up-too quickly-and my headache sends me stumbling. I press my hand to my forehead to apply pressure like I expect it to do anything.

"Your nose is bleeding."

I wipe it off on my hand… there's a lot of blood. I wipe again with my sleeve, thoughtlessly staining the cashmere sweater that I got on that shopping trip with Victoria and Nathan. Damn it. "Drop dead, slut," I snap.

There's that look again. Call or go online to pledge your support within the next thirty minutes and we'll send you a photo of a closeted whore that's been rescued from its abusers. We'll also include this free tote bag.

Fuck off, Kate, I don't have any sympathy for you.

I need to splash some water on my face or something. I've got some time-Victoria's still trying to charm Mr. Jefferson, leaning slightly over his desk for maximum… visual appeal. It's kinda creepy but at least I can admire her ass. Ambition. I can admire her insistently heterosexual ambition.

He stops me on the way out the door. "It's not like the great Maxine Caulfield to slink away without proudly showing off her latest work of genius. I'm still waiting for your submission to the Everyday Heroes Contest."

I fidget a bit, playing with the strap of my bag. "Yeah, I know." It's true that I'm never shy about showing off my work but, "I don't have it yet."

"I'm getting worried," he says cheerfully.

"I haven't found my inspiration," which is technically true-ish, in an Obi-Wan 'Jedi truth' kind of way.

After a little more admonishment I make it out into the hallway. I take a deep breath, and try to shake off the weird feeling that followed me out of that dream.

Wait. I check my phone. Monday. How the fuck can it be Monday? I remember… I had a test on Tuesday, but it was cancelled, because… Classes were all canceled on Tuesday because of…

Classes on Tuesday were canceled because…

I…

Am I going crazy?

Victoria walks out and circles around to look me closely in the eye. "Maxine?"

"It's nothing," I lie. "I think I have the flu."

"You seemed fine this morning." She puts her hand on my forehead, twice, after I push her away the first time. "I was going to suggest we hang out with Nathan like we always do, but maybe you should take some Nyquil and go to sleep."

I nod.

"Do you want me to walk with you to the dorm?"

"Sure, whatever."

At least it's a nice day, warm, with clear, blue skies. Everyone's outside, either studying or hanging out. Justin is skating. Brooke is flying a radio-controlled… is it a drone? Stella and Warren are off in a corner together making kissy faces as usual. Alyssa is reading something, until some douche hits her in the head with a football. I feel kinda bad for her, except that she doesn't like me for some reason.

"So," says Victoria. "Did you get in touch with your subject for the Everyday Heroes contest?"

Hey Chloe. I know I've been a totally shitty friend who practically abandoned you during the most difficult time of your life, but real quick can I take your picture so I can win this contest? "No, I haven't been able to reach her," I lie.

"You said she lives in the area, right? Maybe you should just show up at her house."

Yeah, that really is exactly what I should do. The issue is what the fuck am I supposed to say to her? If I knew I'd already have gone. "Maybe I will."

My breathing is still bothering me a bit. Fuck these stairs.

Victoria rushes ahead to hold the door for me. "Do you… have any other ideas?"

"No." It has to be Chloe.

"Mark has a point, you're usually so brave about putting your work out there. I'm trying to be more like that. If you're worried about…" She suddenly grabs me by the shoulders. "Holy shit, Maxine! Your nose is bleeding. A lot."

She leads me by the wrist into the bathroom and leaves me in front of the mirror while she grabs paper towels.

It's serious, like I got hit in the face or something.

"Maybe you should go to the nurse," she says, handing me the paper towels. "I'm worried."

"I'm fine," I lie.

Even staring straight into the mirror I can feel her concerned look.

"Maxine, I, uh, I got the impression that something's been bothering you the last few days, especially after you mentioned reconnecting with your friend for the Everyday Heroes Contest…"

Stop.

"And I realize we haven't been friends for very long, but, like…"

I don't care.

"I respect you and I know that Taylor appreciates how you went with her to visit her mom in the hospital, so, like…"

I don't want to hear this.

"I want you to feel, if something's bothering you I want you feel like you can talk to me…"

Just shut the fuck up.

"But if…"

Kate walks in.

Victoria grunts at her, and chooses not to finish the thought, instead leaning her hip against the sink to my left.

It feels like my brain is trying to escape my head by squeezing out through my nose. I steady myself by gripping the sides of the sink and try to keep alert by staring right into the mirror.

The three of us were in this same situation a few days ago, come to think of it-Kate in a bathroom stall and Victoria and me pretending she wasn't there while we talked about her. I don't remember what I said exactly, but when the two of us were laughing about it later Victoria made a joke about Kate being in that stall to slit her wrists. I thought it was funny.

This time, however, Victoria is wordlessly staring at me and waiting for her to leave to continue our conversation.

Behind me I hear toilet paper rip.

Gushing blood, extreme head pain, blanked out in the middle of class, forgot what day it is… Am I having an aneurysm or something?

Kate rinses her hands, but the soap dispenser is empty. She barely picks up her head to look over at the dispenser between me and Victoria, who waves for her to go ahead.

The second Kate steps between us, Victoria speaks up. "I feel like we bump into each other pretty often, Kate, considering how busy you are with your extracurricular activities."

Kate doesn't say anything and waits obediently for the hit that we all know is coming.

"Actually I heard that you're president of the abstinence club, the hypocrite club, and the drunken slut club. It's really impressive how you manage all that and still find the time to blow random dudes at parties."

I look over at Kate. She's staring at her hands as she washes them, slowly, like she doesn't have the energy to move at normal speed. She put her hair up like she always does, but didn't brush it, leaving it a tangled, ratty, ugly mess. She's not wearing any makeup, which makes it obvious to any observer that she's done nothing but cry for days.

But I was that girl once, wasn't I? On the floor, against the wall, slowly sinking into a ball as my body shook too hard to stay upright. So ashamed of myself I couldn't…

Why am I suddenly so concerned about Kate? I hate her and everyone like her. I wanted to see her hurt; this is exactly what I wanted. Yesterday I enjoyed laughing at a hypocrite who got destroyed by her own hypocrisy. Today it feels like… beating a puppy.

What would Chloe think of me right now?

Within a second I'm wiping more tears from my eyes. It's a question I haven't truthfully asked and answered in a long time.

Victoria says some bullshit, asks Kate a legitimate question, and cuts off her answer with an insult.

Chloe would say that life's too short for this garbage. You gotta make friends, travel the world, learn new skills, try new hobbies, find love when you want it, dump lovers when you want to. And honestly, go to parties, get drunk, and make out with whomever the fuck you want.

So that's it, then. I don't like Kate-at all-but I'm sick of this. I just want to take some goddamn ibuprofen and go to sleep. "Kate, I'm sorry about what I said. You didn't deserve any of it," I lie.

They both look at me like neither of them is sure that that really happened.

Victoria sputters a few sounds that might be the beginnings of swear words, then one that I'm almost positive is "Sorry," and then she storms off.

Well… fuck. I should probably go after her or something. It's only going to get worse.

Halfway out the door I hear a whisper. "I forgive you."

I turn to look at Kate, who looks at the floor. I told her to die. Like, literally I told her to die.

"Do you want to hang out or…" I trail off. _What_ did I just fucking say? "Or something?"

* * *

Kate's idea of hanging out is just to chill in her room. It's dark, with the blinds down. I hit the lights when she doesn't bother to.

She starts picking dirty clothes up off the floor and stuffs them into her already overflowing hamper. "It isn't usually such a mess in here."

"It's fine."

She nods towards a little shelf in the corner by the door. "There are some snacks if you want."

Her food shelf is home to some canned, microwave fare, a few boxes of crackers, and a bunch of dishes, half of them dirty. The glasses are knocked over and ready to roll off the side and break. I grab a bottle of water and drink down a few gulps. Water helps with headaches, right? It does when you're hungover. At least it's starting to get a little bit better.

The small trash can next to her bed is full to the top with tissues. Maybe… maybe she has a cold? We didn't make her cry that much. _I_ didn't make her cry that much.

...Right?

On the nightstand is a postcard. There's a Bible quote and a message from her father. "'And the light shines in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.' Katie, you'll always be my brightest light against the dark. hugs n' love, Pop." Family can get you through anything, right Chloe?

On top of the dresser there's a bunny in a cage chilling with a poster of Jesus. The bunny's cute, with white fur and big, black spots around her eyes, her ears pressed against her as she rears her head back to lick at the metal straw of her water bottle. Hey, little bunny. I feel like we met somewhere before…

Oh, there's a framed picture of Kate, Alyssa, and Stella, with the lighthouse way in the background. I had no idea they were friends. I guess it explains why Alyssa doesn't like me.

Kate shifts her attention to the couch. "I'm sorry. I'll clean a place to sit." She stacks up all of papers-homework, sketches, stuff like that-that are covering it.

On her bookshelf is a family photo-Dad, Mom, Kate, and two sisters. They're all wearing white and black-all three girls are wearing black sweaters over white shirts-and no one is really smiling. There are three large, black and white photos on the walls, which are dark brown wood paneling. The largest portrait, hanging center of the wall between Kate's mom and dad, is of some old, bearded guy. Yes, this here is Jeremiah Thaxbytwimble, founder of our church, who tragically died at the hands of an angry mob in 1847 after preaching the truth that black people are the creation of Satan. He is survived by his wife and two daughters, Mrs. Jeremiah Thaxbytwimble, Mrs. Jeremiah Thaxbytwimble, and Mrs. Jeremiah Thaxbytwimble.

I'm terrible. I should stop.

For real, though, this family. Kate's dad looks like he's probably over six feet tall, with short, blond hair. Oval glasses. Clean shaven. Suit with black tie. Thin, rectangular face with an angular jaw and strong chin. One-hundred percent, this guy has a horse and buggy and builds houses by hand, like in the old days before the devil corrupted everyone with his evil music that the kids these days call jazz. Mom has long, brown hair parted on the right side. Long, thin nose, thin, arched eyebrows, sharp cheekbones. White dress, high heels, white pearl necklace, perfect for pearl-clutching. The sister on the left looks older than Kate, probably in college. Her face is exactly like her mom's, she wears glasses that look just like her dad's, and keeps her hair back with a white headband. I'd chat her up, even if she's a little plain Jane, like the main character of a romantic comedy before the part where she gets a makeover and a haircut and contact lenses and learns to appreciate the beauty that was hiding under her frumpy exterior all along. The girl in the middle is the youngest, probably fourteen. She actually looks like a normal person-cute, with a round face, button nose, and big, pouty lips. She's wearing skinny jeans. At her age. My god. The scandal.

Nearby on the bookshelf is an open Bible, with a few papers stacked on top of it. One is a sketch. There's a fire pit full of burning skulls, with more skulls and jawbones strewn around like they were meant to be carelessly thrown into the fire and missed like crumpled paper littering the area around a trash can. Marking the fire pit is another skull, oozing blood from the mouth down the shaft of the pike that it's impaled on. You won't end up in Hell just for making out with boys, Kate.

Next is a letter, on fancy stationery with crosses on it, from 'Auntie Marsh.' I'm guessing this is a great aunt because judging by her immaculate cursive she learned how to write in 1907. 'No spirit or devil could have prepared me for what you have done in that videotape. And like a jezebel you released your harlot image before God's eye. I will pray with my church for your soul to be saved from Eternal Hellfire.' You know what I think, 'Auntie Marsh?' I think you and your opinions are fucking awful, and it's a good thing that no one in the entire history of the world has ever given a flying fuck what her great aunt thinks. I think that, instead of judging Kate for doing what you wished you had done at her age, you should go back to praying for your cats to repent from their sinful ways. Yeah, that's a far more effective use of your time.

I set that letter aside. Carefully. Because I shouldn't rip Kate's things to shreds.

I take a look at Kate's bible. Some pages are dog-eared, some passages are highlighted, and a few pages are bookmarked by sticky notes with quotes on them. And my parents never once took me to church, which is probably good because I have enough things to rebel against.

There's a quote that looks extra important. For no particular reason, I ask, "What's this quote mean?"

"Which one?"

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

"That's Matthew 11:28. It's my favorite passage," she says. "It's about how… if you feel like your troubles in life are weighing you down, you can pick up the burden of faith and everything feels lighter." She grabs her desk chair and drags it over by the couch. "I didn't really explain it very well."

I take a seat on the couch, opposite her, gently pushing her tablet out of the way and setting my bottled water on the floor. "It's okay. I get it."

It's… quiet, for a bit. So… I'm trying to make conversation here, I guess. How do I normally make conversation? Asking questions… small compliments, if they're genuine. I already know Kate, so there aren't that many questions to ask. Scanning the room again I spot her violin case, left open with the violin in it. "I, uh, I haven't heard you play your violin in a while. You used to play it every night, right?"

"Oh, I guess I didn't realize anyone could hear me. I hope it didn't bother you."

It's impossible to talk to people who are down on themselves all the time. I might be screwed. "No, it didn't bother me. You're really good actually. It was a nice soundtrack to do homework to."

"Thank you," is her complete, laconic response.

She's giving me nothing to work with here. Compliments, um… Normally when I'm talking to girls I can find something that looks good, some little fashion choice like jewelry, hairstyle, or clothes, but Kate looks like shit right now so that's no good. Come on, she's an art student, I love to talk about art. Her drawings are… are bloody, fiery skull pits. That's a dead end. Um…

I fidget uncomfortably until my foot bumps into something and I realize I've just spilled my bottled water on her floor.

"I am _so_ sorry."

She gets a faded beach towel from her closet and I take it from her to start patting the carpet dry. She immediately gets down on her knees with me and helps.

"Why did you stand up to Victoria for me?" she asks.

I look up. She's, um, really close-and her shampoo has a tropical, fruity scent. Neither of us is doing anything about the spill but with her head down and this close to me it's like she's expecting to get pulled in for a hug where I'll let her rest her head on my shoulder. I really want to leave, like right now, but she's _right there._

She's asking me a question. Right. "I… I don't know. Life's too short and too hard to pick fights when you don't have to." I can't keep eye contact with her. The honest answer is that my Mean Girls bullshit feels so insignificant next to what Chloe's going through. "I know I said some things to you that were pretty hurtful. But it's… they weren't really about you." I owe her the truth, I think. "At my last school I was friends with this guy who was really cute and really popular. Eventually I asked him out, and we had fun, and I liked him, and I trusted him, so I slept with him. Except it wasn't really what I wanted. Soon after that, some of my friends started spreading it around that I slept with him on the first date and immediately dumped him."

"I'm sorry to hear that," says Kate.

"Yeah, well, when I see those abstinence posters that you put up," like that one, right there, that she's helpfully stuck to her own wall, "I don't like the accusation that my 'slip-up' ruined my life."

"I'm sorry," she repeats. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

I don't think that's an excuse for slut-shaming, but as far as excuses for slut-shaming go, it's better than mine. People called me a slut, so I turned around and called Kate a slut. Clearly I'm the hypocrite, not her. I throw my hands up in exasperation. "And that's not even the real reason either."

"What do you mean?"

"After I moved to Seattle, my best friend was paralyzed in a car accident. I was never there for her. And now that I'm back here, just a couple of miles from her house, I'm too ashamed to see her." I wipe my eyes. I'm tearing up, just a little. I don't know why I'm breaking down like this, especially in front of Kate.

She takes a long moment to think, or maybe she gives me a long moment to decide if I want to keep going. "I don't think it's as bad as you think."

"I was gone five years, and I wrote to her not even a dozen times. During the most difficult time of her life."

"She'll forgive you." Kate reaches over and takes my hand. "An apology goes a long way."

It really does, doesn't it?

* * *

Maybe the beach was a bad idea. The sand slopes up and down like dunes, and the only path is made of uneven wood planks.

"It's weird hanging out with you again," says Chloe.

"I know… I'm glad we are, though."

"It was nice that you sent me actual letters," all ten of them in five damn years, "that's more than any of my other friends have done… and you even wrote on that cool parchment paper. That's so Max."

"So pretentious. But I love writing on it, like an English poet. You deserve the best stationery."

"Probably easier to write than to visit me."

I… yeah.

She sighs. "I don't mean that in a bitchy way. Not totally. You probably wanted to avoid awkward conversations like this."

I wanted to avoid her looking at me and seeing what a failure I am.

She turns. "Can we stop? This is seriously the best view of the sunset. What do photographers call that?"

"The golden hour."

"See? Without you here, I'd have no clue. Bet you could take some amazing shots…"

Yeah. Chloe, in her chair, silhouetted against the sunset. I'd win the Everyday Heroes contest for sure. That's what's important, right? Selfish fucking bitch.

We're silent for a long moment before she, probably sensing how I feel, says, "I'm sorry. Your letters meant more to me than anything. I didn't mean to make you feel guilty for not visiting."

I felt guilty long before she said anything. I bite down on it and say, "I wanted to write more, but it was hard when every letter boiled down to, 'Look how much fun I'm having without you.'"

"No," she says with firm sympathy. "Never feel bad about that. I want to know that you're happy."

That's because you don't know me anymore.

She shakes her head. "Hanging out with you makes me feel like a total kid again. You don't even know. Thanks for coming out to see me. You're… you're doing great."

I start to feel the heat in my face and the burning in my eyes and I turn so that she can't see how much I fucking hate myself. "I don't think so."

She says something about being cold and how maybe we should head back.

* * *

I don't think I've ever seen her new room, but I swear it's so familiar. Did she send me pictures with one of her letters?

There are various medical supplies and spare towels and sheets on pretty much every surface, but interspersed with them are various knick knacks. A shelf of depressing medical shit is brightened up by a little, pink box with a hand-painted, white flower on it. Around her TV there are a half dozen snowglobes, a teddy bear, and the stuffed Hawt Dog Man that I got for her on that road trip. On the far wall there's a stack of photo albums, and a framed picture of her and William together in the kitchen. I don't recognize it, but they both look so happy together. It's beautiful.

She's got some things pinned to a board, including one of my old letters. It's not one of the better ones-I read one sentence and practically cringe at how ineptly I tried to apologize for never writing. Staring at it makes me more aware of her eyes on me, as she sits in her bed watching.

"So," she says. "Are you sure it isn't too weird for you to be hanging out with me like this?"

It hurts. A lot. I don't face her. "It… makes me feel some regrets."

"Look at me," she snaps.

I do.

"I know you were busy kicking ass. I don't blame anyone for bailing on me."

"I should have done better."

" _Yes,"_ she says harshly, "you _should_ have. But you're not Super-Max and I'm not trying to guilt-trip you."

I know that I fucked up. I've always known that I fucked up. She's angry, which she should be, but she says she doesn't blame me. Is she forgiving me? Should she? I have no fucking idea what I'm doing… but I suppose I came here to apologize. "Okay, Chloe. I'm sorry."

She doesn't acknowledge it, changes the subject, and tries to play it cool, but she totally fails to hide a smile. "I, uh… need to get my drink on. Can you bring me some water?"

I grab her cup off her desk and hold it up for her. Somehow the image of her sipping from the straw reminds me of Kate's little bunny.

She finishes, and licks a little droplet off her lips. "Oh man, no wonder my throat is dry. I don't think I've talked this much the whole year."

I set the cup aside. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Well, hot monkey sex would be nice."

I quirk an eyebrow at her. "What does that even mean? Like, in a tree while confused children watch?"

"Woah," she says. "Nothing makes Maxine blush. So, are you dating anyone at Blackwell?"

"I'm too busy with school and photography."

"Oh, please. You can't be an artist unless you experience life… That includes boys, girls, whatever."

I touch my fingers to my chest in a 'if I do say so myself' humblebrag gesture. "Back in Seattle I dated the cutest, most popular guy in school. His name was Brad."

"You dated Bradley Cooper. Okay, I'm with you so far. Dish."

"Well we only went on one date, but we were friends and had been hanging out outside of school for months."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh." She nods her head vigorously. "And the monkey sex? When's the monkey sex?"

"No, you gotta hear the whole story. It's a classic." I'm already laughing it was so stupid cheesy. "We went to the state fair. Corn on the cob, corn dogs, mac and cheese, cotton candy. There was a petting zoo, I made kissy faces with a baby cow. I rode a mechanical bull and looked like a total whore. He shot a thing or some bullshit to win me the biggest stuffed animal. We made out on a ferris wheel and I lost my virginity in the back of his mom's bitchin' Elantra. It was great."

"I promised myself I wouldn't cry," she says, acting all choked up. "I'm just so proud. My little girl's all grown up and a world-class maneater."

I laugh. "Yeah, no. I'm a lesbian now."

She grapples with that one for a second, and takes the conversation all serious with, "Do your parents know?"

"I haven't told them yet. I don't think they're going to react badly or anything, I just…"

Why is she looking at me like that?

"Am…" she falters. "Am I the first person you've told?"

Oh, Chloe… I didn't even mean to come out to her, I just blurted it out without thinking, but… She looks so… so lit up, like, genuinely, emotionally touched. I wish she had been the first. The way she's looking at me, it's heartwarming. "No. Some of my friends at Blackwell know. This girl Victoria is my best friend there-I told her first. I'm sorry, Chloe."

In a soft voice she says, "I know I was just joking about being proud of you, but I am. Really. I'm _so_ proud of you."

Chloe proud of me… being accepted by my best friend… I want to remember this feeling until the day I die.

We both take a moment to compose ourselves.

"So this Victoria," she says slyly, "is she…?"

"Nope. That's an absolute no. Trust me, I tried."

"Maybe you just haven't gotten her drunk enough."

I lean in as close to her as I can from my seat. In my lowest, breathiest whisper I say, "Maybe I just haven't gotten _you_ drunk enough."

She rolls her eyes. "You're not going to make me blush. I'm a lady who wouldn't even care if you strapped me to the bed and walked on me in your tallest dominatrix boots. Plus I let strangers from the internet sponge bathe me and watch me poop."

I laugh.

"You know," she says, drawing out the oh, "it would be sweet to chill out together and watch a movie, like when you'd spend the night at my house…"

Hell yes! "What do you want to watch?"

"Uh, I think I'm in, like, a mellow Blade Runner mood. I always cry at the end. Plus, you know I always wanted to have cool colored bangs like Pris."

"Oh, but that would shatter my image of you as the sweet, wholesome…"

"Fuck off!" She laughs. "Don't even finish that sentence."

"Alright, but you better not fall asleep on me, like you always do when we watch movies."

"I remember, Max. Swear I won't fall asleep. Not while you're here. Not yet."

Chloe turns out to be more entertaining than the movie. She makes fun of every dumb little thing-the opening crawl, the stupid 2019 fashion, the characters, the actors, the part where Harrison Ford says it's too bright to do the test even though the whole movie is so dark it looks like it was lit by defective birthday candles. She throws in some interesting facts from the director commentary and online interviews, points out every tiny difference from the book, and around every piece of evidence weaves her argument for why Deckard is, in logically indisputable fact, a replicant. I can't keep up with this queen nerd; without her this movie would be trippy and confusing as balls.

Eventually the credits roll and I let William and Joyce get Chloe ready for bed, while I do the same upstairs. I take a good, long look in the bathroom mirror while I brush my teeth. I look… happy. I bring that smile downstairs to the living room couch, where I pass out on top of the folded stack of spare blankets they left me.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping… Ow! Oh, this is not a comfortable couch to sleep on. I'm going to have a pain in my neck all day.

Maybe if I act like a wounded baby deer about it I can get a sympathetic Victoria to give me a neck massage. Yeah, sexy neck massage. And then she'll admit that I'm too damn sexy and that she can no longer suppress her deep, aching longing for hot, lesbian sixty-nining… Mmm…

I get a text. From Victoria.

"Hey. thx for making me look like a total fucking idiot yesterday. Kate talked 2 me this morning like we're gonna be BFFs now. Gross. Told her to fuck off."

Aw, shit. I text her back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. Kate's creepy and weird but she's not even that bad. Can we just leave her alone?"

"You made fun of her as much as any of the rest of us did."

"Yeah, I did. I don't want to anymore. I'm not asking you to apologize, can you just lay off? For me?" I came back to study art, not get caught up in this adolescent bullshit.

"maybe" she says. "Are you okay? U were acting weird yesterday and you didnt even come back to the dorm. Where are you?"

"I'm at my friend Chloe's house. I crashed on her couch."

"Thats great!" she says, adding a little smiley emoji, "I know it was super important to u that you reconnect with her."

"Yeah. We're having a lot of fun, even if it's hard seeing her again like this."

"Where's she live, anyway?"

"On Cedar, halfway between Two Whales and the donut shop."

"lol youre hungry arent u?"

Yeah, did I even eat dinner? "Maaaybe…"

"I'm sure she's glad you're there. We can talk about the Kate thing later." As is customary for Victoria, she signs off with, "Love U!"

There's also a missed text from Nathan, sent last night. He said Victoria's worried about me and asked if I'm okay. I text him a quick update. He's a pretty nice guy when the stress isn't driving him nuts. We actually had a long conversation about how his dad bullies him, orders him around. Nathan thinks that he isn't brave enough to stand up to his dad, but I said that I support him and I know he'll find something that inspires that courage in him.

I should check on Chloe.

She's awake in bed, watching something on TV. "Hey. You can turn it off," she says. "I was only watching because you weren't up yet."

I turn it off the TV and bust a fists-on-hips superhero pose. "What kind of adventure are we going on today?"

"Sorry, I'm dealing with my regular head pains this morning. Can you pretty please go upstairs and get my morphine injector in the bathroom?"

"Morphine injector?"

"It's total Star Trek shit. You can't even see the needle," she says. "Seriously, I need it. Um, my parents keep the swag upstairs because they think I can't get to it. But you can, Max. Like a pirate, right?"

"I'm on it."

Finding the injector is easy enough but… something doesn't feel right. I feel like something bad is about to happen, but I don't know why. Maybe I should check with William and Joyce. I knock on their bedroom door and Joyce calls me in.

She's sitting on the bed reading. "Ah, Max, it's so nice to have you around. It's good for Chloe to stay in touch with her friends."

"Where's William?" I ask.

"He's out running errands. He was going to do some work downstairs but he didn't want to wake you."

"Yeah. It's nice waking up in your house again."

"Oh, William and I love it. Finally seeing you and Chloe together after all these years… after the accident…"

"I wish I was a better friend," I say. "I know Chloe doesn't get many visitors."

"Oh, Max. You're Chloe's best friend for a reason. You're here exactly when she needs you." She says it in a reassuring tone that almost makes me believe her.

"I hope so. You guys do such an amazing job of taking care of her."

"We can only do so much… and she gets damn sick of her parents. That's why it's so important that you came to spend time with her."

Joyce has been here struggling, fighting, at Chloe's side every day, doing whatever she had to do to meet challenges that only happen in other parents' nightmares. I show up now and she treats me like _I'm_ the hero. "I don't see what I can do that you can't."

She pauses. "Max, Chloe's condition is not improving. Her respiratory system is very weak and she… she… Do you know what I'm saying?"

Is… is she telling me that, "Chloe is… Chloe's going to die?"

"She has some time left, but it all depends on how hard she wants to fight. She needed you to be here, right now."

"I kept putting this off because I was afraid to face her. What if I hadn't come here yesterday?" All the feeling, all the weight falls through me, through my shoulders, down my back, through my legs until all my weight is in my fingers and toes and my body is just this dead thing hanging off of me. What _if_ I hadn't come here yesterday?

I imagine my phone ringing, and I, not recognizing Joyce's number, let it go to voicemail. In her message she'd say hello, that she misses me, that she hopes everything's going well for me, but she's sorry to say that Chloe passed away. She'd say that she knows we hadn't talked in a long time, but Chloe would've wanted me to attend the funeral.

"What if I'd put this off until you called me to tell me she's dead?"

I'm watching as the casket is lowered into the ground, only thinking about when I messaged her to say that I'd be going to Blackwell, how the last thing I said to her was that we should hang out again.

I try to scream but the energy isn't there, the words coming out in a constricted croak. "What if I'd showed up at her funeral like I fucking deserved to be there, like I wasn't the friend who fucking left her and never came back?"

In an instant Joyce is on her feet and trying to untangle my shaking fists from my shirt. "Max. Max. Look at me."

I shut my eyes and all the tears go streaming down my face.

"Max, you are saving Chloe's life by being here today."

I can't breathe, I can't breathe.

"You're saving her life by being here," she repeats.

She pulls me closer, into a hug, and I cry, just cry everything out onto her shoulder.

"It hurts, Max. It hurts too much for anyone to handle, let alone someone your age."

I…

"Don't blame yourself for doing what you had to do."

I can't…

"You're here now and I'm so proud of you for it. You're saving her."

"Uh-huh," I gasp.

She holds me like this, gently rocking back and forth for, fuck, I don't know how long. Meanwhile I stand here and feel any respect I might've had for myself disappear forever. Years wasted avoiding Chloe, and now there's no time left.

I don't think I _am_ standing anymore, I think Joyce is holding me up. I gently touch her arm to let her know she can let go, and I take a seat on the bed and stare directly into the floor.

"Do you remember that donut shop down the street?" she asks.

I nod.

"Why don't you go and get breakfast for the four of us?"

"Okay," I whisper.

She grabs her purse off the floor somewhere and gives me cash. "Take a walk. Catch your breath, okay?"

I nod, and put the money in my pocket. Shit. I hand her the morphine injector. "I was supposed to give her this."

Joyce assures me that she'll take care of it.

* * *

I was a weird kid, and Chloe's a year and half older-she always protected me when we were little. When I moved to Seattle, I was still weird, with no friends, no social skills to make friends, and no Chloe to look out for me. I struggled to talk to people, I struggled to keep up in school, I struggled to take care of myself. Then she had her accident and… nothing mattered anymore. The struggle got harder because fundamentally life was no longer fair. It all felt pointless.

More than anything I wanted Chloe to swoop down and save me again. But how could I ask her, 'Chloe, please help. I'm having trouble dealing with what happened to _you.'_ I couldn't turn to her for help, but I thought maybe if I just talked to her…

I wrote her a few letters. I didn't tell her that I was falling apart, I made it seem like everything was fine. I played up every tiny success I had, but my success was limited to physically surviving each day without breaking down and crying. I was doing nothing with my life, my letters showed it, and Chloe picked up on it.

In her replies she would always tell me that life is too short to waste. That I need to take every opportunity, every chance at happiness because I'll never know how many or how few I'll get. That I've always been shy but I need to overcome my fears because having friends and family means everything. That I have to get out there and make my dreams come true.

I was barely holding together-I knew I could never do what she was asking. But I thought, at least she was encouraging me, at least she cared and supported me.

But the more I read her letters…

Every little word choice, every little phrase. When I looked too hard I saw it. Judgment. Anger. Resentment. She was telling me to do these things, and hated me for failing.

I'm crying again.

When I finally realized it I held her letter to my chest, my body shaking more and more until I collapsed and cried every last one of my tears into the carpet. I was so ashamed of myself. I knew how badly I'd fucked up, and I knew that if I let her down like that again I wouldn't survive it. I'd just lie down and die.

But when I finally-

"Miss? Miss?"

The donut shop is empty except for me and the middle-aged guy with the graying beard behind the counter. He's laughing good-naturedly as he literally waves both arms to get my attention.

"Do you know what you want?" he asks.

I have no idea. For the minute that my eyes have been pointed at these donuts I don't think I've so much as looked. I pick out four that look good.

Right, Chloe will need help. I tell the guy that I changed my mind about the custard-filled one. I get her some donut holes instead because bite size will probably be easier for her and I won't have to wipe the custard off her face. As for coffee…

I left without asking Joyce what kind of coffee to get. But then, she let me, so she probably doesn't give a shit. I get… Chloe can't have coffee, right? You can't do caffeine with painkillers, or, well, you wouldn't anyway. I think? I get two black coffees and two hot chocolates. But wait, what if, like, what if it's too hot, how would she stop me from burning her? If I'm tipping the cup back for her and it's too hot, she can't physically, no, she drinks everything through a straw.

I bury my face in my hands. I have no idea what I'm doing. What Chloe needs, what she's been through, I don't know her at all… Whose fucking fault is that? I wasn't here…

I pay for everything and take a seat by the window while I wait for the drinks to be made.

I was avoiding her because I was too ashamed of myself for avoiding her. I still be avoiding her if… if I hadn't talked to Kate, if Victoria hadn't pulled me into that bathroom, if I hadn't had that headache and nosebleed.

Every moment with Chloe counts now. These are her final months. Soon, she'll die, and when she's gone… All of the pain she went through, all of the struggle, for what? I can understand fighting through your pain in the hope that everything will be better someday, but to fight, and fight, and fight, and just die? What's the point? She deserves so much more than a painful life with a meaningless end. She…

She means so much to me, and I'm going to lose her. I'll have to go on living without her. I'll go to college and think about how much I miss her. I'll build my career and think about how much she inspired me. I'll grow old and tell my grandkids how much I loved her. Is that all her life will amount to? Memories for her loved ones to think about when nothing else is happening?

It's not fair. It isn't fair. It isn't _fair!_

The hot chocolate's done. The guy has all my drinks ready in a little carrier on the counter.

As he hands it to me he smiles and says, "Have a good day, and smile more. A girl like you shouldn't be frowning like that all the time."

I want to throw it in his face and scald him.

* * *

There are only two plates set at the kitchen table, where Joyce is reading the mail. William is still out, I guess. I set breakfast on the table and give Joyce her change.

"Thanks, honey," she says.

I lean against a chair back and stare at nothing in particular.

She wraps up what she's doing and pushes the mail aside. "Chloe needs to lie down for a while. I thought you and I should have breakfast just the two of us so we can talk about things."

"I… want to talk to her for a little bit. There are some things I want to say."

She gives me a very concerned look, which I meet with what I hope is a determined one. "Okay," she says finally.

I enter Chloe's room and carefully shut the door behind me.

She's sitting in bed where I left her. "Sorry I'm down for the count here, but my pain keeps getting worse. At least you caught me on a good day." She's slurring her words. "I'm so grateful that I'm even able to hang out with you."

So Chloe's a happy drunk. That's cute. "You are _so_ adorable when you're high."

She smiles. "Stop me if I'm getting too mushy, but can you grab one of those photo albums over there? I'd like to check out some old pictures of us when we were kids."

I want to tell her everything right now, but the words don't make it out of my mouth. I grab the photo album for her and leave it open on her hip. We might as well look through it-I think I need another minute to gather my thoughts and build my courage.

As I sit by her bedside we reminisce about a few of our pirate misadventures as tiny, huggable children, making trouble, laughing in the face of parental authority, and causing endless headaches for poor, beleaguered William.

"We should have taken over Arcadia Bay when we had the chance," I say.

"There's still time for you…"

I don't want the town. I want her.

"There we are making pancakes," she says. "I love that shot of us. It's hard to believe my dad took that picture only five years ago."

No, it's been a painful, miserable lifetime since then.

"Chloe," I say, as she says, "Max."

"You go first," she says.

I tell her how I felt when I moved to Seattle, how I struggled, how everything hurt, how I couldn't deal with the unfairness of her accident, and why I thought I couldn't talk to her about any of it. How, in my letters, I tried to cover up how bad things were so that maybe she wouldn't be disappointed in me. How I realized that her words of encouragement were backhanded judgments.

"When I finally figured out how you really felt…" I prop my elbow against the armrest and lean into my hand as I tangle my fingers in my hair. "I was devastated. I'm a disappointment to Chloe. She's angry that I'm wasting my life, that I'm not strong enough to hold myself together."

"I didn't…" she starts emphatically, pauses, then with less conviction says, "I didn't mean for that to hurt you."

"You did. I could tell." I untangle my hand and wave it all off. "It doesn't matter. The next day at school, I was in free period, and Brad was there. I'd seen him around school, he was really funny, I totally had a crush on him. Two of his friends were also in that free period, but they were both out sick that day, and he was alone. I thought to myself, why would he want to talk to a nervous wreck like me? I'll just say something stupid and he'll laugh in my face. But, I thought, this is exactly the kind of opportunity that Chloe would want me to take, so I went over and started talking to him."

"And you made a friend."

"No, I said something stupid and he laughed in my face. But then the next day he said hello to me, and I tried talking to him again. The day after that he asked how I was doing, and I tried talking to him again. The day after that he asked if I had plans for the weekend, and I invited myself to hang out with him and his friends. Everything changed. I started talking to random people on buses, people waiting in lines, everywhere I went. It made me happy, it made me proud that everyday I was doing something that I never thought I was capable of. I got better in school, I remembered how much I love photography. I did everything you said. I lived my life."

She smiles and says, so softly I almost don't hear it, "That's my Max."

"Over time," I continue, "it got harder and harder to talk to you. For one thing, if I'm off living the life you wanted, how much would it hurt you to rub it in your face? And on top of that, thinking about you always brought back those feelings of anger and hopelessness. I let us drift apart, and…" I take a deep, angry breath. "That was the wrong decision for so many fucking reasons, but somehow I convinced myself that it was what you would've wanted me to do."

There's a long silence as she watches me, considers me, and finally says, "I spent a lot of time being angry at my friends. When things got bad, Max, I…" She grimaces. "I hated your guts, I dreamed about the hateful shit I was going to say to you if you ever came back. You hurt me, but when I saw you again yesterday I knew… When I'm gone, I want you to be happy, I want you to be proud of the strong, brave person I always knew you were, and I want you to have no regrets."

When she's gone… "I _am_ happy, I _am_ proud. That's because of you. I'm a better, stronger person today because of you. I realize that's a shitty consolation prize-you'd rather have your own life than be the inspiration for mine. I'd go back to being that shy, awkward girl without a second thought if it meant you'd get your life back, but I can't. I wish I could."

Her eyes quickly dart away as she says, "There is something you can do for me," and then back to me. "My respiratory system is failing and… and it's only getting worse. I've heard the doctors talking about it when they thought I was zonked out. So I know I'm just putting off the inevitable, while my parents suffer along… and I will, too. This isn't how I want things to end."

"You're not going to 'suffer along.' I'll make sure of it. I'm going to take a hiatus from school, I can start college a semester late…"

"That's not what I want," she says firmly, then repeats it. "That's not what want… because, Max, being with you again has been so special. I just wanted to feel like when we were kids running around Arcadia Bay…" Her voice wavers. "And everything was possible. And you made me feel that way today. I want this time with you to be…"

And I will continue to make her feel that way. "I'll come here every day after school. I'll…"

" _No._ That's not what I want," she repeats. "I want this to be…"

I'm not going to abandon her for years, reunite for a day, and leave her to die feeling alone. "I'll go back to the dorm, pack my stuff, move in here, commute to school. Every night will be pirate sleepover night."

"I don't want you to be here watching while I suffer and die!" She raises her voice loud enough that Joyce will have heard, if she's still down here.

I…

"This is me on a good day," she says, "drugged up and pissed off. But tonight I'll probably lay awake all night, in too much pain to fall asleep, crying because I want to kick and scream and throw shit through the walls, and settling for yelling at you and blaming you for everything." Slowly, firmly enunciating each individual word, she says, "I don't want you to be here."

She doesn't apologize, or take it back, or look regretful. That's it. She wants me gone.

I stand. "Then I guess I _am_ a failure to you."

When my hand is on the doorknob, she says, "What I'm trying to tell you is that I want this time with you to be…" She shakes her head, and through gritted teeth, finishes, "Fuck it. You can't help me anyway."

* * *

It's raining and dismal by the time I get back to school, the tile floors all wet and covered in muddy sneaker prints. How could I have fucked that up so badly? She doesn't want me to see her in pain? I'd stay by her side no matter how much pain she was in. I thought I made that clear, but maybe I should've said it out loud. Except… she probably yells at Joyce and William to leave just like she did to me, and they stay. And I didn't. One argument and I ran off. She's in pain, of course she's angry, of course she'll yell at me. Joyce said I need to be there, and that's that, no matter what Chloe wants.

Okay, I fucked up, but I can still fix this. It's still salvageable. I'll pack my stuff, just like I said, I'll talk to Joyce and William, tell them what happened, ask to stay there, and think of a really good apology for Chloe. She'll forgive me, I know she will. And if she won't I'll… I'll just have to earn it.

In the hallway outside the classroom Kate and Mr. Jefferson-

I never got a picture for my contest entry. Fuck!

In the hallway outside the classroom Kate and Mr. Jefferson are arguing.

"Maybe this is your way of getting attention," he says.

"Attention?" Her voice breaks. "My life is over now."

"Knock off this martyr crap."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to be honest."

"Why?" She turns and starts walking away. "Nobody believes me anyway. Nobody."

I didn't realize victim blaming was one of his responsibilities as a teacher. When I'm certain Kate is out of earshot of anything else he might say, I walk up to him. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Jefferson," I lie.

"I'm only bothered when you avoid turning in photos. But you know this. So what can I do for you, Maxine?"

"Just between you and me, I'm worried about Kate Marsh."

"That's no secret," he says. "Word on the street is that you and your friends have been very concerned about her lately… and the contents of her video."

Fuck you. "I was wrong about her. She doesn't deserve to be humiliated like this."

"What if she brought this on herself?"

 _What?_

"She means well," he says, "but maybe she doth protest too-"

"Go fuck yourself!" I try to shove him but because he's so much bigger than me I just send myself stumbling backwards like an idiot. "I was wrong before, but you should _fucking_ know better!"

He's got nothing to say to that.

Look at me, storming off down the hallway like I just won a moral victory against a man who said the same exact shit that I thought literally yesterday. There goes Saint Maxine, out the fucking door into the rain to save some homeless, drenched orphans or some shit. Did you hear how she told Satan to fuck himself and donated her Blackwell scholarship to trashcans in need?

Fuck.

I should go after Kate, but I've already lost sight of her. She's probably going back to the dorms, and if she isn't I don't know where else I'd find her.

* * *

Good, looks like she's here. Her door is partway open, with the lights on.

I knock. Nothing.

Again. Still nothing.

"Kate? It's Maxine. I'm coming in."

Her room was a mess before, but now it looks like it's been purposefully trashed-everything but the bunny cage has been thrown on the floor. The window's been smashed…

There's a crowd gathering at the front of the building. Many of them are holding their cell phones up, toward…

Oh my god…

I make a break for the nearest staircase, only to realize that this wing only has two floors. After a mad sprint for the middle of the building a staircase takes me up two stories to the roof. The door is wide open.

"Kate!" I shout breathlessly. "No!"

She turns. "What are you doing here, Maxine?" She's drenched and shivering, with stray, wet hair falling around shoulders, which are pressed down by the weight of her clothes. The gold cross around her neck stands out sharply against her damp, white shirt and pale skin. The path of her tears looks branded onto her face.

I take one tired step forward-

"Stop!" she screams. "Don't come near me! Seriously, I will jump!"

"Okay, okay. I'm right here. Kate, please…"

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? You want the fucking hypocrite slut to 'drop dead,' right? 'Drop dead.' That's what you said!"

I am so fucked. "I know what I said." Fuck, shit, _shit!_ How could I be so _fucking stupid?_ "And I was wrong. I was wrong about you. I see that now-I know what a good person you are…" I take a desperate step forward. "I know because you forgave me!"

"You did apologize," she says. "That meant a lot to me."

 _Yes!_ Yes! There's still a chance! I can do this! "Kate, your life is still yours. And we can get through this together…"

"I know you want to help me. I love that you stepped up to Victoria, but it doesn't matter now. Nothing matters."

"You matter." I take another step forward. "And not just to me. Kate, please trust me. Come stand by me, okay? I can help you now… I know I can."

"I did feel better talking to you yesterday. I'm glad that we could do that even though we haven't gotten along. I really appreciated that you shared with me about your friend."

"And you gave me the courage to apologize to her! Chloe only has a few months left to live, but we reconciled. She forgave me, and now I can be there with her when the time comes." Another step forward, if she'd just reach out her hand I could grab her and pull her back… "That's all because of you! I couldn't have done it without you!"

"I'm glad I could help you, but…" She looks up at the sky, then back down. "I'm in a nightmare and I can't wake up… unless I put myself to sleep. Then everybody at Blackwell can post pics of my body… Why are they doing this to me? Why do all your friends hate me so much?"

I can't… Changing the subject would be transparent, and I don't see any way to soften this. I should… I should at least tell the truth, right? "They don't hate you-it's that they don't see you. They see the girl who was bugging them about her abstinence campaign one day and going wild at a party the next. They don't see Kate, they just see someone to laugh at. I was like them once… I know if you and I work together we can change their minds!"

"If that's how it is," she bites, "what's the point? I have to fight just to be treated like a human being now?" She takes _a step back._ "All the fight's been kicked out of me already! Everybody thinks I'm a viral slut now!"

Her heels aren't even an inch from the edge. "There is no everybody!" _One_ wrong word or a light breeze and she's _gone._ "There's only your friends and your family who love you!" It's a Sisyphean task to force air into and words out of my aching chest. "I saw that card from your father. You can count on him, he clearly loves you without question."

"Dad does care… even though I hurt him… He's the only one I know who believes in me…"

"See?" I shift forward precious inches, reach out with my trembling hand… Please… "You're not alone. And nobody down there wants to see you up here. This isn't the end, Kate. There's no way God doesn't have big plans for you here…" What was that Bible quote? Light against the darkness… no, that was on her father's card. The one in her bible, weary and burdened? "What was that quote you had highlighted? It was about picking up the burden of faith, so that all your troubles feel lighter. How did it go, Kate? Can you tell me?"

"God put me on this roof-I don't believe in him anymore. I don't believe in anything anymore."

 _No!_

She turns-

"You're right!"

She turns back.

"You're right," I repeat. Someone is coming. A teacher, a cop, a fucking angel swooping down out of the sky, _someone is coming_ to save her. "We all hurt you. _I_ hurt you. _I_ failed you. I failed you because I'm a bad person." Keep her talking, _keep her talking._ "I don't know how to help you, but it's not because I don't care!" I start moving, to my right, sidestepping, every movement as slow as possible to avoid startling her. "You gave me precious time with Chloe. I owe you _everything_ for that! So I'm going to risk everything, for you. If you jump…" I step up onto the side edge of the roof. "I jump!"

From where I stand, on the fourth floor roof, I watch the rain flood down the slanted surface of the second floor roof below me. A two story fall is survivable, right? Unless I'm hurt in the landing and can't stop myself from sliding off and falling the rest of the way to the ground.

" _What?"_ she says sharply.

It doesn't matter. "You know I'll do it-so you won't!" _Someone_ is _coming_ to _save_ her. "You're too good of a person to jump knowing that I'll get hurt because of it!" I don't have to jump… I don't have to _jump,_ because _someone_ will get here. "You won't do it! I know you _won't do it!"_

"Get out of here, Maxine, you can't change my mind! My life sucks and I want it over! Now!"

Her eyes move first, exposing the web of inflamed blood vessels.

This isn't happening.

A muscle casts an angled shadow down her neck as her head turns toward her shoulder.

One more mistake, one more failure to haunt me for the rest of my life…

A stray, wet strand of hair whips over her ear towards her lips, flinging droplets outward along an arc.

She told me… She told me that I…

Her spine twists in a wave from her hair to her hips, as she shifts her weight to one side.

I'm proud.

The heel of her foot leaves the ground.

I'm strong.

Her knee moves forward and out.

I'm brave.

The point of her toes drags across the concrete.

I'm Maxine Caulfield, and I…

She looks at me with genuine, emotional pride, her smile warming my heart, because she thinks the person I care about most is her and not myself.

...refuse...

She stops to admire the shimmering ocean, her chair perfectly silhouetted against the golden sunset. My hero.

… _to regret!_

As I jump my heel catches on the lip of the roof, sending me tumbling over backwards and ruining any chance I had of landing safely.


	3. Chapter 3

It's the nausea that wakes me up. The concussion. That feeling of being so sick that I just want to throw up and get it over with. I know I asked the nurses for a bucket, yeah, there it is on my tray table. I reach over and, no, that shoulder's dislocated. I can't reach it with my good arm either.

Over in the corner Mom bookmarks her page and helps me out. "Feeling any better?"

The bucket echoes my "Nope" back at me.

She gently brushes my hair out of my face. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

I take a deep breath and sigh-ow! Bruised ribs. No more deep breaths. The morphine doesn't seem to be cutting it, although I can't feel my face or the wide, black bruise that stains my eyes, my cheeks, and my broken nose.

I don't think I'm going to throw up. I lay back and look at the paneled ceiling. "I'm okay."

Mom says that she's going to go find Dad. He should have been back with dinner by now.

I'm okay. I give myself a few minutes to let that sink in.

Wow, is that my phone? The screen and the casing are cracked, but it still works somehow-I have new messages.

"Hey, Maxine."

Nathan? He speaks slowly, like every word hurts him, and he stops every few seconds to cry.

"I've been thinking about… what you said about standing up to… to him. I don't… have a lot of real friends, not many that really understand me. When I saw you get hurt… What you did was very brave… And I need to be brave now too."

For a moment he just cries into the phone.

"Don't worry. You'll hear all about it on the news."

End of message. What the hell does that mean?

Mom pokes her head through the door and knocks. "I found your dad. He's talking to the Prices. They came to visit you."

Well, fuck, if I'd thought this far ahead maybe I would've jumped off the _front_ of the building.

I see Kate looking down at me, on her hands and knees leaning over the edge of the roof, crying and screaming my name. Okay, too soon for suicide jokes.

"Should I send them in?" asks Mom.

"Yeah."

A minute later Chloe comes in, alone. Someone shuts the door behind her.

She pulls right up next to my bed. "Your parents were happy to see me. Although I'm a little upset that they didn't call to tell me that you jumped off a roof."

It's an understatement. She's ready to scream.

"I guess I can't blame them," she says. "They probably figured I'm not important to you anymore."

"So you found out from the news?" I ask lamely.

"No, I don't watch the news, and Mom and Dad are too busy. I probably would have found out tomorrow from a gossipy nurse-yeah, imagine that. 'Did you hear about that Blackwell student who jumped off a roof yesterday?' Imagine how that would have felt, when I'd have to ask which Blackwell student and they'd tell me your name."

I lean into my pillow, looking past her, off to the side. A tear crosses the bridge of my nose.

"Lucky for you," she continues, "some preppy, blond chick showed up at my house asking if I'd heard about what happened to 'Maxine.'"

Victoria?

Chloe doesn't say anything else. For at least a minute I feel her glare that I can't meet as I cry into my pillow like a child. Whatever my redeeming qualities might be, everything I do manages to hurt her and I don't feel like anything can outweigh that.

When I finally look up she's crying as hard as I am.

A few gasping sobs before, as hard as she can, she screams, "Why'd you _fucking_ do it?"

My eyes burn too hard to keep them open, so I blindly reach out…

...and I feel her tears running down the back of my hand. "For you."

* * *

 _Author's Note: This fic is kind of a sequel, or perhaps a spiritual successor, to my earlier fic, The Precious Gifts I've Stepped All Over. If you enjoyed this fic you'll probably enjoy that one because they're both about Maxine and all her regrets. Also, Maxine gets to meet not-paralyzed Chloe._

 _I feel like I really put Maxine through hell. Twice. And then pushed her off a roof._


End file.
